


A Look into the Romantic Life of Jason Todd and Dick Grayson

by tstansetis



Series: JayDick drabbles [1]
Category: DCU, DCU - Comicverse
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-03
Updated: 2013-06-03
Packaged: 2017-12-13 20:54:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/828761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tstansetis/pseuds/tstansetis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dick and Jason have a complicated relationship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Red

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dickie looks good in red

It bubbles up and boils over and before you can stop it, your hand is moving on it’s own, fingers curling into a fist and knuckles making contact with the side of his stupid, attractive face.

You hate him more than you can express with words - probably even more than your fists can convey. He’s always been a hurtle for you to jump over, an obstacle that was always JUST too hard to climb, JUST too far to reach. You were never quite good enough, always just a few steps behind him, and you grew to resent him, and now all you want to do is pummel his pretty face until it’s black and blue like his damn body suit.

You grab him by his hair, tugging him up roughly before he can fall away, before he can dance out of your reach yet again. You pull his face to yours, studying him with a disgusted curl in your lip, because damn it all there’s a REASON he’s the favorite, you can see it now while you’re inches away from his bleeding lips.

He’s so perfect that you nearly gag, eyes raking unabashedly up and down his face, his toned, thin body…

You grit your teeth and use the grip you have on his hair to slam his head into the brick wall behind him, over and over until he’s practically screaming, because that’s what you want. You want to watch the favorite, the Golden Boy Dickie, lose it all. Make him beg, put yourself in control, because it’ll finally put him in his place.

His breathing seems labored, and it puts a sick smirk on your face. His blood is smeared on his face and on the wall behind him, and his stupid, sickeningly perfect eyes are fluttering, there’s a trail of red dribbling down his chin and you smirk and press yourself against his too-perfect torso, licking your lips, because if it’s possible he looks even better with blood all over his face.

You lean down, real close to his face, and murmur when your lips are only a breath away from his, damn full and soft and covered in blood.

“Red looks good on you, Dickie.”


	2. Trashy Pop Music

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jason loves his alcohol

“God dammit, Jason!”

He smirks, and your eyes narrow. He presses up against you, pushing your back into the bar counter. You can smell the alcohol on his breath, and your nose wrinkles in disgust.

“What’s wrong, Nightwing? Can’t handle a little party life?” his drunken laugh sinks into your veins, and you struggle against his grip, frustrated.

“I can handle it just fine. I’m just tired of you breathing booze in my face.”

“Oh yeah? Prove it.” his speech is slurring, and there’s a nasty smirk on his face. “Come dance with me.”

You shake your head and start to decline, but he’s tugging on your arm and you’re suddenly out on the dance floor, neon lights flashing and blinding you, and you squint your eyes, frowning at him and gritting your teeth.

“Jason - “

His hands are on your hips, guiding you in a saucy dance to some trashy pop song that’s been played three times since you entered the bar looking for Jason.


	3. Showtime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dickie puts on a good show

You watch him with a preditory smirk, licking your lips slowly and sleazilly as you can manage as he kneels in front of you on the bed with lowered eyelids and rosy cheeks. His hands are traveling up and down his own body, nimble fingers teasing his pink, perky nipples and delicious moans escaping his lips. His tongue is poking out between his lips, eyes glowing dangerously.

“Putting on a show for me, Dickie bird?”

He nods with a smirk, soft, uncalloused hands running over the muscles on his abdomen, long, thin fingers teasing his own thighs as you sit back and cross your legs and give him a very obvious once-over, letting out a low, impressed whistle as he moans your name in a shuddering voice.

Your smirk widens when he starts stroking himself, the lovely sounds coming from his throat fueling your own arrousal. He’s moaning your name, a steady mantra of Jay, Jay, ohhh Jason…, and you lick your lips, internally debating on whether to join him, or to sit back and watch him fuck himself senseless with his fingers.

You decide on the latter for now, very much enjoying the view from where you sit.

He pulls a bottle from the nightstand, licking his lips, and your blood spikes a bit when you realize he’s grabbed his “special lubricant”, the kind that heats and tingles when he uses it. You fold your hands in your lap, grinning a cheshire-cat smile when you realize how good this is going to get.

When the first finger slips past his opening, you almost worry that he won’t last longer than that. His eyes slip shut and his tongue darts out to lick at his lips, sweat coating his forehead and flushed cheeks, silky hair sticking to his face as his breath hitches with each movement. He’s riding his fingers, moaning at the tingling and heated sensation.

“Jaaaay…”

His eyes lock with yours as he pushes another finger in, and you feel fire in your veins, knowing that you’re the only one who will get to see him like this, at least for now, and you love the thought of that, of this beautiful man belonging to only you. 

You stand up, taking slow, steady steps toward the bed, gaze preditory and smirk never fading. He watches you the whole time, his body quivering in anticipation, for you. You grab his hands, licking your lips as you shove him down, pinning his wrists above his head and tying them to the headboard. You lean down, running your tongue over his chest and grabbing the tube, lubing yourself up and quickly shoving yourself inside.

His back arches beautifully, and you thrust quickly, in and out, eyes closed tightly and panting heavilly, clenching your teeth and listening to the lovely, pornographic noises he’s making. You smirk and bite his neck, sucking hard enough to make sure you leave a mark, and his teeth dig into your skin, and you know for a fact that you’re going to have huge hickeys on your shoulders tomorrow, but you can’t bring yourself to care, because it feels so good, he’s so tight and his body is so warm and you just want to fuck him until he can’t walk anymore.

From the way he’s moving against you, meeting your every thrust and calling out your name in that voice that he knows drives you crazy, you honestly can’t see him minding too much if that were the case.

You smirk, because you know he wants SO badly to use his hands, but you won’t let him, and he loves it, loves the teasing and the inability to touch, no matter how badly he wants to run those soft hands up and down your chest, he loves losing control more. And you’re more than willing to take it from him.

~~

You lay in bed with him after going a few rounds. He’s exhausted, his voice is hoarse and his head is resting on your chest as you have your after-sex cigarette. You can’t help but stare down at him and wonder how the hell he decided it was a good idea to get involved with you.

Even though you’d never admit it, you’re glad he had some lapse in judgement, glad that some twist of fate landed you both in your beaten down apartment, fucking in your rickety old bed on a semi-regular basis, and being in an unspoken exlusive relationship.

Dick Grayson really does know how to put on a good show.


	4. I need you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jason doesn't get it

You’re frowning from the couch as you watch him scurry around the apartment, picking up trash and old cigarette butts and sweeping under the coffee table. You didn’t invite him to move in. He didn’t ask. It just kind of happened. You’d have a good fuck with Golden Boy, he’d spend the night, and it became a ritual, and you got used to breakfast in bed and laughter echoing through the walls and even the goddamn annoying singing in the shower. 

And more and more of his stuff would just kind of pile up in your closet - neither of you planned this, but it’s happening, and now he’s cleaning the living room while you sit there and wonder why.

Why would Golden Boy, Dickie Grayson, heir to Bruce Wayne’s millions, want to live in this ramshackle shithole with you and your idiot redheaded archer roommate? Why would he give up his nice apartment in the good part of town to move in with you in crime alley, to have to listen to police sirens and dogs barking and people screaming all night long?  
You just don’t get it.

You notice he’s stopped moving - a rarity for him - and he’s just staring at you, a look of concern on his stupid, pretty face. You frown.

“What?”

He still looks worried.

“What’s on your mind, Jaybird?” you roll your eyes at the nickname - though you guess you can’t complain, since you’ve given him quite a few yourself, most of them much worse than the petnames he’s bestowed upon you.

“Nothing.”

“Don’t lie to me, Jay. C’mon, spill.” he’s grinning and you sigh and scoot over on the couch, letting him take a seat. 

You study him for a long, long time, eyes narrowed as you take in his bright, blue eyes, his full lips, his tanned skin and his dark hair, and you let out a frustrated sigh.

“I don’t get you.”

He quirks one of his stupid half-smiles that still manage to somehow be incredibly charming. 

“Lotsa people don’t. I’m an enigma.”

You roll your eyes again. 

“Not like that, Dickhead,” he tilts his head and you groan to voice your displeasure at having to actually explain your feelings, “Alright, look, I just…I don’t get why you…why you…stay here. With me.” You look at him and he looks incredibly surprised, and you huff in frustration, “You could still be living in that…nice little apartment that Bruce helped set you up with, in the good part of town where Golden Boy is supposed to live, close to his little brothers and his daddy and his work and blah blah blah, but you’re gonna come down to Crime Alley and live with two vigilantes in their crummy, smelly, broken-piped, cold and dirty apartment, just because you’re fucking one of them. I don’t get it.”

His expression softens and you quirk an eyebrow. You know that look. He’s about to say something really mushy and cheesy and you kind of wish you hadn’t said anything now.

“Jay, I don’t need all that stuff to have a home. I don’t need a nice apartment in a good part of town. I need you. That’s all.” his smile widens, sparkling on his face, “because I love you. You’re home for me.”

You roll your eyes for the third time today, but you cant help but feel a pang of affection for the royal idiot. You can’t remember the last time you felt needed by anybody.

You know he’s not expecting you to say those words back to him. He stopped being sad about it when you showed him in other ways, like making him breakfast once in a while, or sitting down to cuddle on the couch instead of having sex, or taking him out to dinner - even if it was a crummy dive that gave you both food poisoning. He knows you love him. You know that. But you also can’t help but feel like he needs to know more.

“…love you too, Dickiebird.”

He’s gotten up from the couch by the time you actually get the words out of your throat, and he freezes midstep, turning to face you slowly with this hopeful expression, his eyes wide and his mouth curving into a smile. 

Before you even register what’s happened he’s tackled you to the couch and he’s kissing your face.

And you’re suddenly very okay with not getting Dick Grayson.


	5. Snow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You can't believe you're having a snowball fight in Crime Alley with your Vigilante boyfriend

You raise both eyebrows at your boyfriend as he spins in circles with his eyes closed, a joyous pink glow on his cheeks and a huge, dazzling smile lighting up his face. His laugh is echoing through the alley, bouncing off the bricks, ringing in your ears. His deep blue scarf spins and winds around his shoulders, flowing behind him like a river encircling his neck. Ebony strands of hair whip around his face, disheveling his appearance more than usual.

“Dickie, c’mon, really?”

He stops, facing you, slightly crouched with a mischievous glint in his sparkling blue eyes.

“Come play in the snow with me, Jaybird!”

“Dick, you’re twenty-five, don’t you think it’s a little-“

You’re interrupted by a burst of cold to your face, snow sticking to your lashes and eyebrows, flecks of white in your hair. You run the back of your hand across your mouth and meet Dick’s eyes with a smirk.

“Oh, so it’s that kinda game, huh?” you bend down, not breaking eye contact with him as you quickly pack together a shoddy snowball, “This I can get behind.”

You can’t quite believe that you’re having a snowball fight in crime alley with your vigilante boyfriend, but you sure aren’t complaining. Not like your relationship was ever orthodox, anyway.

It’s nice, the way Dickie can just waltz in and light up the darkest places with one of his charming smiles, the way he can make you forget that you’re “Red Hood and Nightwing” so that you can just be “Dick and Jason.”

You’d never tell him this, but you’re glad he moved in with you. Unofficially. He still owns his apartment in Bludhaven, but that’s more from lack of time to sell it – what with the nightlife you both have, and the rigorous bouts of sex, and his job as a cop, and rigorous romps in bed…

You think maybe you should cut back on the sex, just a little, but you doubt that’ll ever happen. The very thought seems ridiculous.

Dick trips, suddenly, and you laugh so hard your lungs burn as you watch him get buried in a three-foot tall pile of snow, poking his head up and spitting, wiping his face with his still-snow-covered gloves. He’s laughing, too, of course he is, when you laugh he laughs, because he knows how hard it is to get you to lose it and laugh as hard as you are now.

You still can’t believe that he’s yours, but as long as he’ll stay, you’ll let him, because you need the light and warmth he gives you.

Even out here in the snow, looking at him and his goofy, charming smile makes you feel warm inside.


End file.
